


Memories

by dinolaur



Series: 100 Bucky Feels to Counter 100 Tony Kills [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinolaur/pseuds/dinolaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky finally get around to visiting the old neighborhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a 100 theme challenge Cait and I were doing. She decided she'd be killing off Tony, and I needed from fluff to counter it.

Steve has never gone back. He’s been unfrozen for over a year, and he’s been steadfastly avoiding it. When asked, he just smiles and says that it isn’t a big deal, that it isn’t something he really needs to do or really even wants.

What he means the whole time is that he can’t do it. Not alone. Oh sure, any of the team would go with him to lend their support, but as much as he loves and appreciates them all, they just won’t cut it. He can’t do it alone, and what he needs is Bucky.

Bucky agrees. He wouldn’t have been able to do it without Steve.

But he’s in the future with his friend now. He’s been here for a couple of months, and his head is mostly on straight. Steve’s been a huge help with that. He’s the only person who knows what it’s like to be so severely displaced. It helps Bucky along more that it’s Steve. Steve always gets him, always knows what he’s not saying and what he needs.

They bring it up in passing first, just an I-wonder-if-that-old-fruit-stand-is-still-there kind of a thing. They get more serious about it every time they mention it, and after a few weeks, Bucky and Steve take a cab out to Brooklyn and the old neighborhood.

It’s different.

Other than his tour in Europe, Bucky’s never really been outside of Brooklyn much. Manhattan a few times, a beach in New Jersey one summer. His family didn’t have the money for traveling. Manhattan is different enough. The skyscrapers are taller and sleeker, and Times Square is something of a phenomenal eye sore. But the old neighborhood, he can pick out every little difference, every new building, every renovation.

They walk slowly up and down the sidewalks. It’s not segregated anymore. They wouldn’t be able to tell a Pole from an Irishman. The newstands have maybe a paper out. It’s mostly magazines and gum. There are no kids playing ball in the streets, and the lot that his gang used to frequent is a corner store. The theater is bigger and plays more than one show at a time.

Steve stops suddenly at an antique store. It’s an old building, still with some of the flare from their era. Bucky keeps going a few steps before realizing his friend isn’t with him. He stops and turns to see Steve staring at the building intensely. Bucky gives it a second glance. It’s nothing special. He doesn’t remember anything about this place.

“This is where it happened,” Steve says quietly. Steve knows Bucky really well, and Bucky knows Steve. This is something big, and Bucky doesn’t need to ask for Steve to elaborate. “This is where they did Project: Rebirth.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. He hadn’t been expecting that. Steve hadn’t actually told him about where the procedure had taken place, and he had figured it was in some super-secret military base. Sure as hell hadn’t considered an antique store in the middle of Brooklyn.

“The store was a front, the base behind a wall. I guess it must have taken up the rest of the building.”

Bucky wonders not for the first time what that procedure must have been like. Steve had said painful, but he didn’t elaborate much. But shit, he didn’t need to. The difference in Steve now and Steve before, there’s no way stretching him that much and pumping him full of chemicals wouldn’t have hurt like hell.

Steve, tiny little Steve who could take a punch like a pro. If anyone could make it through a procedure like that and live—because Howard Stark and Peggy Carter had told him once and only once how lucky it was that it worked—it would be him. Steve had always had more guts than anyone Bucky knew, even when he didn’t have the bite to back up the bark.

They had already played the Places Steve Got Beat Up game back over by their old school, which Bucky had ended by manhandling Steve into a headlock. That’s not a game Bucky likes to play. He really hates it. Because there had been too many times that he had shown up late to the fight. But Steve’s big now. He still gets into more trouble than Bucky’s ever seen, but at least he doesn’t need Bucky to come out on top anymore. Of course, that doesn’t mean Bucky won’t jump right on in after him.

And it’s a bunch of stuff that Bucky doesn’t want to think about, so he grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him down the street. Steve gets it and doesn’t complain. They go over a few blocks, and neither of them can believe it. It’s still there.

Steve grabs Bucky by his wrist and drags him inside, the same little bell chiming to announce their arrival. The man behind the counter, obviously he’s not the same, but he’s elderly and that’s at least familiar. Steve is giddy as he places their order. Really it’s too cold outside for shaved ice, but Bucky doesn’t complain as he bites into the red tinted cone Steve hands him. They go outside and sit down on the curb, just like they used to, and even though Steve looks so different, Bucky can picture the tiny boy he used to be, all big blue eyes and a messy mop of blond hair under a newsboy cap and wearing clothes too big. He had always needed suspenders to keep his trousers up. And Bucky remembers himself, bigger than Steve, his hands always dirty and scrapes on his elbows. Both of them would have their mouths dyed by their treats, his red and Steve’s purple.

Snow cones were a weekly treat during the summer months. They saved up their pennies, and the storeowner Mr. Fitzpatrick had been so charmed by Steve—just like every other adult in the neighborhood—that he always gave them extra syrup, even when the Depression was on and he was struggling to stay afloat.

Bucky smiles as he lightly shakes the cone to stir the ice and juice. He hasn’t had one of these in ten—or if you want to look at it chronologically, eighty—years. The future is mind bogglingly different, and things have changed so much that it makes his head spin. But it’s nice to still have these little things. 


End file.
